


Scent Memory: Roses at Dawn

by Skull_Bearer



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bittersweet, For the K-Science Valentine Prom 2016, M/M, Perfume, Rose Petals, Valentine's Day Cards, Valentines' Day, idiot nerds in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/pseuds/Skull_Bearer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day at the Shatterdome. Hermann receives a card and remembers other Valentines Days, and the cards he'd had then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scent Memory: Roses at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://nokaijuentrailsplz.tumblr.com/](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Fnokaijuentrailsplz.tumblr.com%2F).



> Thank you for Sherriaisling for beta reading this for the 14th!

 

_Be My Valentine!_

Hermann looks at the- garish red thing sticking out form under his keyboard. He pulls it free, finds the rose-petal pattern is not just a pattern; his fingers rub over the texture of dried flower petals, catches the faint, rich aroma still clinging to them.

He opens the card, and a thin stream of fresh petals spill out into his lap, red and pink and oddly heavy. He's half inclined to brush them to the floor, but-

_The envelope arrives a week after Valentines Day. He tucks it under his shirt to hide it from the family, only opening it when he's upstairs in the bathroom._

_He's glad he did_ ; _the scent inside is overwhelming. Newton must have emptied an entire bottle of perfume into the handmade paper. He chokes, and turns the extractor on._

_-Wish I was here- is written in simple blue ink; a little doodle of an airplane flies over London monuments, dropping tiny hearts over the city._

_He presses the card to his heart, meaning his shirt smells of perfume for weeks when he refuses to wash it._

_Newt's email is waiting on his computer. -Did it get there? I hope the smell's still there; I smelled it and thought of you-_

Maybe that had been the first warning sign. Hermann sighs. He can't imagine what Newt was thinking when he decided that the overwhelming reek of _l'Aube_ would somehow represent him.

Well, he'd found out how wrong he was, just the next Valentines Day.

Hermann looks down at the card; open, the scent is richer, sweeter, a little musty and deep. It's more complex than the usual rose-scented body wash he uses, but it's similar, all the same. He wonders if it is just coincidence, or if the person who sent this had- noticed his preference.

He gathers the petals together into a little pile on his desk, wonders about make a little potpourri, and then opens the card again.

_The card had been shaped like a lockbox, a tiny pewter key tucked into a pocket._

_-The Key to My Heart-_

_Hermann opens the card, and the invitation drops out, and a note._

_-You said you were going to Boston-_

_Is on the note, and Hermann catches his breath. Yes, the biology conference. He wouldn't have wanted to go, normally, but-_

_Decline of the Salamander panel: speaker- Newton Geiszler, MIT._

_Inside the card, is an invitation to a high-flying dinner at the hotel where the conference is happening._

Hermann almost closes the card again. The memory _hurts_. He wishes he could go back and... and do what? Not go? It would only have been prolonging the inevitable. Newton was not the person he had imagined- that he had fallen in love with. He thinks he might have been able to work through that, but-

But he had not been who Newton had fallen in love with either.

 _Gott_ , what is he even doing? Hermann starts to close the card, ready to toss it in the bin and be done with this unpleasant visit to memory lane, get back to his numbers and what is actually _important_ -

A tiny slip of paper flutters free of the card.

At first, he thinks it's another rose petal, but when he picks it up, it's a little red sampling slip, the kind you get in perfume shops.

He sniffs it, and the rich, spicy scent of _l'Aube_ rises to meet his nose, subtle and sweet and even with so little he can catch all the intricacies of the smell, the sharpness that hits his nose at first, fading to the spice and a sweetness as rich as dark chocolate.

He looks at the tiny slip, blankly. Then he opens the card.

_Hey Hermann! I can't promise a Michelin star meal this time! But if you want to come to my place at seven, I'm going to try and put together something decent from the Shatterdome slop._

_Be my Valentine?_

The card slips from his fingers. It slides into his lap. He looks at the petals on the desk, the tiny slip. Inhales the mixed scents of perfume and roses.

His heart- the heart he'd though quieted forever from his one and only relationship and its ruinous conclusion- wakes with a stab of searing pain.

_He is twenty. Standing in the lobby of the hotel, pulling at the cuffs of his best suit. And his heart, his living, breathing heart, is awake inside him, dancing and bouncing and racing in anticipation of meeting-_

  _The person he had met through their letters and emails. A brilliant, witty, funny man who always knew what to say. Who knew when to be quiet. Who had tact and grace and such sweetness..._

And he had met Newt.

Hermann smiles weakly, runs a petal through his fingers. Newt is indeed brilliant. He is even funny- sometimes deliberately. But as to the rest-

It is madness; he should put this down and close this chapter and this card to the past and- move on, ignore this distraction for the ruin of the present.

But then, he looks at the petals, the scent that had been so offensive in that first card and is so- beguiling, intriguing, on this tiny slip. Maybe- just maybe-

He looks at the clock; it's a quarter to seven.

If he hurries, he could get back to his room, take a shower, get changed into something a little more appropriate...

He can always back out. He tells himself as he walks out of the lab, carrying the card and a clean mug containing the petals and perfume slip. He needs a shower anyway, he thinks as he strips and ducks under the tiny shower stall in his room, lathers himself and the room fills with the scent of roses.

He hasn't worn this suit in ages. Hermann insists firmly, as he takes it off the hanger. It's a bit showy, in grey and powder blue, but it's not good to leave a suit in a wardrobe for years- it's always good to give them an airing.

He steps out into the corridor. The three steps to Newt's door can be excused- it's on the way to the lab, after all-

He hesitates, held outside Newt's door. He can't go any further, can't make that one step to confirm or deny and can only hover between the two, not wanting to make this decision-

It is made for him, and the door opens. Just a crack at first, then jerked open. "Hermann?"

And it's that look. The bright eyes and tentative smile and joy- all for seeing him.

Ten years back, looking at Newt for the first time and wanting - oh so badly wanting- to see that same look in his eyes.

And Newt looking for it back.

Hermann cannot help the smile; it comes sweet to his lips. Sweet as roses and the dawn.


End file.
